


Step Back

by frogfarm



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: Johnny wants a drink. He also wants to kill his ex-sensei. Since neither of those is actually happening, here's what does.Sequel toNext Move; post-2x10, "No Mercy". Johnny POV.





	Step Back

Johnny Lawrence has never wanted a drink so badly. His own dojo, stolen out from under him; most of his students turning away from him to follow the man who had stolen it. His prize student in the hospital with a broken back, courtesy of his own flesh and blood; a blossoming relationship cut down and sprayed with weed killer, as Miguel's mother took out her rightful anger on the most appropriate target. More than a drink though, he wants to walk up behind his ex-sensei and kick him in the balls so hard he kisses sky. Lock him inside his shitty stolen building and torch the place, listen to the screams --

Whoa. Even at his darkest, that is so not him. That's some real _Commando_ -type shit there.

In lieu of acting out fantasies of arson and murder, Johnny is methodically gathering up all the Coors bottles that have accumulated over the last few weeks, cluttering the apartment and creating all kinds of safety hazards. All he needs at his age, slip and fall and open a vein. Die alone, unmourned and unloved.

He almost hurls the bottle away. Takes a deep breath, and drops it in the bag.

The knock at the door is a tentative one. His heart leaps into his throat at the thought of Carmen on the other side; still angry and tearful, but willing to forgive.

Like he deserves it.

He almost doesn't answer. Ultimately, before the knock is repeated, he realizes that's a pussy way of not dealing. He quickly splashes cold water on his face, dries off with his shirt as he crosses the room. If not the girl of his dreams, maybe fucking LaRusso again to serve him with some bullshit legal paper. He's ready for anything, or so he thinks.

"Hey, sensei."

"Oh." He takes in the sight before him: Cobra Kai's most entitled member, standing beside its second most badass. "Hey."

"Can we come in?" Aisha indicates Demetri, who looks skinnier and more pathetic than ever, both arms wrapped around his shivering torso. "He didn't bring a sweater."

"Sure. Just cleaning up." He stands aside to let them enter, looks around outside before shutting the door. "So what's up?"

"I'm sticking with Miyagi-do." Demetri's attempt at defiance is pretty much an all-around fail. Everywhere except the eyes. "I just want you to know that."

Johnny can't help the corner of his lip curling up. "I'm sure it'll be worth every penny."

"Nevertheless --" The geek draws himself up to his full height, nodding to Aisha. "I told her anything was better than Kreese."

Johnny looks at his best female student. Well -- no. Still the best. He'd bet cash money on it.

"Anything, huh?" He snorts and turns away, depositing the bag of bottles in the corner. "So why not take lessons from the homeless chick down at Mini Mart?"

"Because you've been the best teacher I ever had."

Surprised despite himself, he glances up. Bless her soul; looks like she meant every word.

"And I still have a lot to learn."

  


* * *

  


It's Aisha's idea to run the dojo out of his apartment to save on expenses, until he can acquire more students. Every so often he flashes on Miguel, lying broken and still in some hospital bed. The only visible sign of stress at these moments is a bit more twitching of his left eyelid. 

More than anything he misses the old, uncomplicated days. Or at least his recollection of them. But with everything going on in his life, it's time to seek the advice of a professional. Or the closest thing he can get.

He frowns at the mirror, fiddling with the length of his tie.

"I'm just saying." Demetri's voice is whiny enough to penetrate the door and his thoughts, all the way from the living room. "Why couldn't Eli have decided to be a guy who kicks ass _and_ enjoys Doctor Who?"

Johnny rolls his eyes and returns to his fiddling.

"Oh, come on!" Given Aisha's silence, there must have been some kind of facial expression involved to provoke this outburst from Demetri. Though from what Johnny could see, it didn't take much. "You don't have the background and context of the entire series to consider! And besides, you only started watching because she's a woman now --"

Johnny grins as Demetri breaks off, picturing the boy cowering in terror. Then he frowns at his own reaction. _Come on, man. At least stand up for your own opinion..._

Instead, Aisha gives a wry chuckle. "Maybe that's part of why I didn't like it."

Before they can get back into it, Johnny opens the door. Both youngsters look up, their eyebrows rising in unison.

"Looking sharp, sensei." Aisha has that hopeful look again she wears so well. "What's the occasion?"

"The occasion is you two get to take my bottles to the recycler. And then you're gonna see how many of your fellow Cobras you can convince..." Johnny exhales, thinking of his son and the boy he's come to think of as one.

"To go with my way."

  


* * *

  


Johnny's drawing on every ounce of patience at his possession -- never overmuch, even on his best days -- as the aide scratches his chin in a thoughtful way, follows yet another hyperlink; gives a cryptic nod, as if to say it's just as he suspected. Again Johnny does his best to wait it out. Free legal advice day at the local library might not be much, but at this point, it's all he's got. At least the guy doesn't look too sleazy; talks like a real person and everything.

Finally the guy sits back and nods, pursing his lips like he's downright impressed.

"As I said -- I don't know much about trademark law. But I think it sounds like a fascinating case to pursue."

"Fascinating." Johnny rolls the word around in his mouth, lets it roll out just as readily. "You mean expensive."

"Well, it's a lot like health care." The aide smiles as he removes his glasses. "If you're lucky -- and that doesn't rule out horrible things happening -- it could cost you little to nothing. Or, it could cost you everything. And not just in terms of money."

Johnny frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Time." The single word echoes in the tiny conference room. "Infinitely precious, irreplaceable -- time."

And Johnny swallows. Tries to not look like he's holding back tears, as he thinks of poor bald, chemo'd up Tommy staring at him from across the fire.

_You still got time._

"This guy --" Johnny takes a deep breath, waiting until he knows he won't raise his voice. "Kreese. He faked his own death."

That gets a raised eyebrow. Johnny drives home the point.

"Twice." 

The aide chuckles, shaking his head.

"You could make a strong argument that he abandoned the name of Cobra Kai. The identity." The aide sounds thoughtful, if not entirely convinced. "And that it would be unfair of him to resurface after all these years, and attempt to profit off of the reputation that you had built and maintained in the community."

_Reputation._ And Johnny's vision flashes before him once more the sight of that strong young body, lying shattered on the ground.

He clears his throat. "You really think I have a case?"

"I'd be in your corner. But what do I know?" Another chuckle, as the man shuts his laptop and gathers up his papers. "I'm just a free lawyer."

"And you get what you pay for?" Johnny manages to make it sound light-hearted, like he's not busting the guy's balls. 

The aide shrugs as they exit the room to a packed hallway. "More often than not."

  


* * *

  


When he gets back, the kids are waiting on his doorstep. Johnny tries not to groan aloud.

"Pretty sure I told you --"

"I tried." Aisha's voice is hard before she relents. "It's not a good time. Maybe I can get 'em away from Kreese."

"That's the whole point." Johnny sighs. "Still. It's the thought that counts."

"Oh, we've got more than that. Behold." Demetri holds up a reusable cloth shopping bag. "Franks and beans, with fresh onion for chopping. A meal fit for a king. Or a, a sensei."

"We were gonna get ground beef and make burgers," Aisha interjects. "But we didn't have a key to get back in, and we didn't have a cooler to put the meat in and we didn't know how long you'd be --"

"It's good." Johnny holds up his hand, steps forward and unlocks the door. "Maybe not all, but -- it's good."

  


* * *

  


Dinner would be better with beer. Even without, it's damn tasty: Aisha makes open face grilled cheese in the toaster oven, and both kids do dishes without him having to give the order. He's flipping channels, only vaguely paying attention to their conversation, when he realizes what they're talking about.

"That's some pretty sick shit, you know?"

Demetri twists his head around, hands buried in a sink full of suds. "Huh?"

"That show," Johnny says. "Game of Thrones, or whatever."

Demetri blinks. "You've seen it?"

"About five minutes. Which was three minutes more than I needed to figure out it was written by a bunch of psychos."

Demetri's scoff is a careful one, but a scoff none the less. "Says a man who grew up in the quintessential era of violent action cinema?"

"I'm not joking." Johnny fixes Demetri with a stare. "Am I allowed to have an opinion? Because in my opinion, grown men and women shouldn't be watching that shit. Let alone kids your age."

"Are you kidding m-- I'm just saying." Demetri weakly protests, in an effort to defend himself. "Mister LaRusso --"

He shuts up as the stare turns to a glare. 

"You want the back in my day speech? Huh?" Johnny levels one index finger at the boy. "You got it."

"I wasn't --"

"When I was in junior high -- you _dreamed_ of seeing a nipple. Maybe -- if you were supremely lucky, if God was smiling on you that day -- a bit of bush."

Aisha shakes her head, not turning around from the sink. "I do not need to be hearing this."

"Yes -- you do. You all do." Johnny sighs and takes a swig of carbonated fruit-flavored calorie-free water. "Because nobody else is gonna say it."

  


* * *

  


He insists on going alone to the hospital. Then he waffles on whether to keep the nice clothes, before settling for leaving the tie at home. It's a mistake he realizes only when he's in the third floor washroom working up the nerve to approach Miguel's room, just down the hall. The image in the mirror looks like a prematurely aged frat boy; half hung over, half still drunk from the night before. 

The doctor on staff is short, prematurely balding, and clearly running on inadequate sleep. He seems nice enough, but still Johnny hears those dreaded words.

"You're not on the list."

"You didn't even look at it." Johnny wrestles his temper down and tries to picture himself in a rock garden, trimming one of those damn bonsais.

"Sensei?" Miguel's voice is groggy but unmistakable. "Sensei, I'm in here! Just -- don't go..."

"Two minutes." Johnny's tone is low, his eyes pleading. The doctor sighs and shakes his head like he's signing both their death warrants.

"I happen to know --" The doctor pitches his own voice down, leans closer so Miguel can't hear. At least that's what Johnny assumes. "The mother definitely doesn't want you around."

"I know." Johnny closes his eyes for a moment, forcing them back open. "Thank you."

The doctor's piercing gaze is fully awake now. "Two minutes."

"Jesus --" He'd thought he was ready but oh Christ, it was Tommy and his chemo all over again and yet this was so much worse. The bruising under Miguel's eyes is dark and shiny, like old-time photos of lobotomy patients; all but his right arm immobilized, cinched tight in wire and metal. This kid had his whole life ahead of him and this is where you put him --

"Sensei?" Miguel's drug-addled words are laden with bewilderment as realization sets in. "Oh, no. No, don't -- please don't --"

"I fucked up." Johnny can barely get the words out past the tears. "I did this --"

"That's my mom talking." Miguel's eyes are bright and fierce, refusing Johnny his pain. "You weren't there --"

"I should have been." Johnny realizes he's grinding his fist into his palm. His hands fall to his sides, grasping at phantoms. "Just like Robby. And he --"

Grief overtakes thought. When he returns, his hand is on fire. It takes him a moment to realize that Miguel has reached out and grabbed on, holding him in a death grip.

"There's only one thing that would make me feel worse than laying here feeling sorry for myself." His prize student gives another squeeze, the newly awakened strength in his grasp more notable than ever. "And that's being mad at your son."

Johnny's aching brain swirls with confusion.

"After my dad was gone, there were a couple gangs in the old neighborhood. They would have taken me -- hell, they take anybody. But my mom moved us here." Miguel gestures for the glass of water on the nearby table. Johnny goes to hold it to his lips but the boy waves him away, drinking deep from the straw before placing it back on the table with a wince.

"And if I'd gone down that path...after what you told me about Robby?" Miguel's eyes are bright with moisture. "That could have been me."

"Jesus, kid." Somehow Johnny laughs, fumbling for Miguel's hand, returning the squeeze. "Don't try to be frickin' Gandhi --"

"I'm gonna get better." The words are hoarse with promise, the boy's entire body trembling. "And I'm gonna fight again. And I'm gonna get Sam back, and if I don't --" He swallows, staring straight ahead. "Then she and I weren't meant to be."

"Hey --" The doctor's head pokes through the curtain. "Front desk just called. Mom's on the way up."

"Thanks, doc." He's half-blinded by his own tears, unable to tear himself loose until Miguel's hand falls away, the boy's breath coming hard from effort and emotion.

"Take care of her."

"Huh?" He stops in the doorway, turns around to find a piercing gaze penetrating him through and through.

"Maybe she hates you, right now." Miguel shakes his head. At his side his arm clenches, hand balling repeatedly into a fist, then relaxing again. "Don't let it end that way."

God dammit. It's Robby all over again, again. Begging his folks not to split up.

"I'll do what I can."

  


* * *

  


"Well?" Aisha looks up from her phone. "How'd it go?"

"How do you think?" Johnny bites down on the urge to snap. "I assume you got everything on the list?"

"If I hadn't, do you think I'd be sitting here playing on my phone?"

Johnny considers this a moment before marching into the bathroom. Demetri is on his hands and knees in the tub, wearing a grimace of distaste as he puts both shoulders into scrubbing its interior.

"That's what I thought."

Demetri looks up with a guilty air. "It wasn't her idea --"

"There any leftovers?"

"Um --" Demetri's puzzlement vanishes. "Yeah. Plenty."

"Finish up, then."

And Johnny Lawrence allows himself a smile.

  


* * *

  



End file.
